I was feeling too rushed, too frantic, to pay any mind to the razor at the back of my makeup drawer.
I always thought I was smart, but I guess the blade was smarter, & instantaneously the blood started to gush from my middle finger.
Under pressure, it did not stop; little spots of blood leaked through the poor excuse of a cover-up called a bandage & the annoying, throbbing pain stayed with me for over 24 hours.
It wasn’t until I dipped the digit into a solution of salt water that the bleeding ceased.
But the process took many tries, and I wondered how such a small cut could be so damn persistent & hurt so damn much.
Why did it have to be exposed & put through pain in order to heal?
Yet, this is not where my story ends:
Just when I thought all was well, of course, I get an infection…
Now the healing process has become more tedious & I am poking & prodding at different areas in hopes that this little disease to go away.
F*ck you, razor, for meeting my flesh when I least expected it, when I least needed it.
It is quite possible, however, that my misfortune was a consequence born of carelessness.
I believed I had come to a conclusion, or at least that’s what I thought.
It played out like it would be easy, but of course, this situation is not.
You’re probably wondering what it is you mean to me.
But did you ever stop & think about how I too am confused, staring back at you with the same question?
The truth was spread like ice on a pond.
They skated over it delicately, blades only barely scratching the surface.
One can only imagine the secrets that lay beneath in the cold water.
It’s all I ever want, all I ever ask for.
Too often, life is sugar coated. And while I love sweet things, my palette needs to be exposed to know the sour, salty, and bitter tastes of experience as well.
So f*ck it. Throw me in a hot wok with all of that sh*t.
Best learn how to face the fire head on, no?
I just want people to tell me the truth. Because at the end of the day, someone’s gonna get hurt either way.
Might as well rip the bandage off in one ‘go.’
For me, it’s better to have a minuscule spot of blood on the skin compared to a moistening, building infection under the latex or cotton coverings.
Besides, I’m resilient.
So why, pray tell, am I most frightened when someone finally comes around and tells no lies and speaks words like honey?
So sweet and so thick. So rich in the color gold. So crystal clear. One needs only a small spoonful to add flavor and in a short amount of time, the taste becomes an addiction.
How is it that something so pure has been placed in front of me?
Things I want, things that I’ve always wanted, but never asked for out of fear of being “too much,” are now being freely given to me without me asking, and it’s nice.
Quite wonderful, even.
And still, I doubt.
In my mind lives the thought of it all being “too good to be true.” The thought that the honey will lead me to a sticky situation that I cannot escape because I naturally get too involved. The thought that this addiction will lead to a deterioration of my health in one way or another, be it diabetes, weight gain, or my mental stability.
How rewarding it is to finally have something to savor after years of sitting at the table.
But how long until there is no food left on the plate and the emptiness settles?